Page 23 of Love Letters to Christmas

Thriving is, actually, quite hard.

Amelia

I love Brian’s events. Brian’s events are the best things since airmail.

Cheerfully, I scoop my sweetened condensed milk into a large bowl and go through the self-serve ice cream making bar, adding a heaping helping of peanut butter and magic shell.

Today’s event is prepping homemade ice cream with a side of hot chocolate to tide us over while it freezes.

Ice cream making instructions and ingredients fill several key conference rooms in the building, and despite the initial bah-humbug I witnessed when Brian first presented his Christmas in July plans, hundreds of people signed up to put together their own ice cream flavor today.

Every freezer in every break room is going to be packed with take-home containers of everyone’s favorite.

Making today even better, tonight Brian is staying late for a meeting with Liam, which means I have brought my own car and will be taking a minor detour on my way back home to retrieve my mail from the post office.

In a modest number of hours, my ice cream will be ready and I should have a Brian letter to go with it.

“Peanut butter and chocolate?” Brian asks, stepping up beside me with a pink mixture in his bowl.

I beam. “It’s my favorite. What’s yours? Strawberry?”

“Watermelon,” he says.

I pause on my way to the whip cream station. “Water… melon?”

“I’m going to add Watermelon Sour Patch Kids.”

“Aren’t those gummies?”

Blissfully unconcerned, he says, “Yep.”

“Don’t…gummies turn into rocks when they’re frozen?”

He nods, sage. “That’s when you suck on them until they soften.”

Brian, my perfect Brian, surely isn’t making a watermelon gummy ice cream. That’s a touch unhinged, even for him.

Unfortunately, he very much is making a watermelon gummy ice cream, and he spends the minutes I spend folding Mini Reese’s into mine cutting Watermelon Sour Patch Kids into triangle slices for his.

Upon completion, he has a spiral arrangement of watermelon gummies atop his bed of pink while I have a scattering of Mini Reese’s atop my bed of peanut butter. He sprinkles whatever powder he used for the watermelon flavor over his then puts on the lid.

Together, we move to the label section, where Frank is doodling a masterpiece For Normie sign upon a paltry slip of masking tape. It cannot contain her skill. Even her penmanship puts letters to shame, for they are not worthy of her.

Her attention lifts to my container when I sit, then fixes on Brian’s. “Watermelon?” she asks.

“You know it.”

“Excellent arrangement.”

“Why, thank you.” Brian slips into a seat at the table beside me and plucks a marker from one of the cups arranged down the center. “What have you made for Norman?”

“Vanilla Bean.”

I peer out at the tables of ingredients and the simplest ice cream recipe in the world, which has been written on a whiteboard where you’re meant to begin the process—two cups of heavy cream, whipped; one can sweetened condensed milk; add toppings and flavors.

Reaching for a slip of tape to label my container, I ask, “Did we…have the ingredients for Vanilla Bean?”

“I have my ways,” Frank says.

“Love always finds a way.” Brian doodles a bunch of cute watermelon slices on his masking tape around his name, and I decide that if it’s possible, I will be stealing and saving it.

“That it does.” Frank caps her marker and rests her chin in her hand. “How much longer am I allowed to stay here before I have to go back to work?”

“Technically, this event resides squarely within the confines of your lunch break, so as to not interrupt the working day in any way, shape, or form. Which someone during the Valentine event complained about. Since their skills could not be replicated by the temps hired.” Eyeing Frank, Brian also caps his marker.

“Now, of course, if you’ve already obtained your nice list points for the day, you’re welcome to stick around for as long as you like. ”

Frank hums. “Assuming I have not , what happens to the naughty list peeps?”

“No one wants to know.”

“Do they get coal? Because summer is a great time for barbeque, and Norman would not mind if I bring home a bag of coal for him.”

Brian scoffs. “Don’t talk to me like that man doesn’t purely smoke things over apple and cherry wood chips. He demands a high flavor profile for his queen.”

How in the world does Frank accept being pampered like that without constant guilt that she’s imposing herself on her loved ones and becoming a burden that will inevitably be tossed aside?

Brian made one meal for me yesterday, and I’m still worried that he’s going to realize how useless I am if he can do what I can better.

Peaceful, Frank smiles. “Fair enough.” Rising with her ice cream, she yawns. “I guess I’ll get back to it, then. But only because nice list people might get wood chips instead of coal.”

“That’s the spirit.” Brian grins.

Is that really the spirit?

Wait. No.

Stop it, Amelia.

We’re being positive , remember? We’re taking up space and not crumbling under the awareness of it. We are seeking and accepting help in order that we might grow and thrive. Like sourdough. Because it has the shortest prep-time, and I’m ready to be healed. Obviously.

“How…” I begin.

Brian’s attention shoots to me, hitting me hard between the brows, and I choke on my words. “How?” he prompts.

Chest tight, I focus my energy on scribbling my name onto my slip of masking tape. “How is Frank so confident?”

“Because she’s Frank.”

What…does that mean?

The cluelessness must reflect on my face, because Brian clarifies, “She’s not always confident.

Sometimes, when her graphics or art don’t turn out exactly the way she wants them to, she isn’t very confident.

I’m not sure anyone can be confident all the time, but everyone does seem to have a few things they’re confident in.

For Frank, it’s that her husband loves her. ”

Imagine being confident in someone else . “I don’t… How do you get that?”

“Get…that?”

“Confidence in another person like that.”

“In Frank’s case, I’m pretty sure Norman brought her food every day for months, wrote her love songs, and just loudly and obviously built his life around her for a long and consistent period of time.

It takes time for confidence and faith in someone to blossom.

” Brian rises with his ice cream tub. “Norman made her a priority and showed her. That’s all. ”

Once again, I’m hearing that all good things in life take stupid amounts of time. Discouraged, I rise with my ice cream tub, too.

“It’s the same with you,” Brian says as we’re heading to the elevator to put our mixtures in the mailroom’s breakroom freezer.

I find his eyes. “What’s the same with me?”

“I’m confident that you’ll do a good job. I’m confident that if I need help with something, you’ll be there to offer it. I’m confident that you’re a good friend and a kind person.”

I’m not sure a good friend or a kind person would need to physically guard against wincing when told they’re a good friend and a kind person by the guy they’d like to be more than friends with.

“Even if it doesn’t seem like it, your actions prove it.” He presses the call button on the elevator.

“I’m always relying on other people. It feels like I’ve spent most of my life trying to repay a debt I never knew I signed up for.”

“That’s what happens when you’re raised by parents who make a point of forming transactional relationships.

It’s hard to understand that sometimes people just do things and don’t expect anything in return if you’ve only experienced self-serving behavior.

All you’ve seen is that the moment someone becomes unable to perform their part, they’re cast aside.

” He flicks a finger between us as we load onto the elevator.

“There’s no transaction here. And, actually—” He settles against the wall, tucking his free hand in his pocket.

“—I’d like you to test it from now until the masquerade ball. ”

“Test what?”

“What happens if you stop cleaning up after both of us, stop making my breakfasts and dinners, stop trying to make sure you have worth, and start learning that your worth is innate and not based on anything you do. Allow me, for these next two weeks, to take care of you.”

My heart thuds . And I accidentally say what I’m thinking, “I would rather die than experience last night’s stress for two weeks.”

“I’ll have to do better to not stress you, then.”

My head shakes.

“More verbal reassurance, maybe? Or perhaps physical? Hugs? Probably hugs.”

My head shakes more violently as my face turns blistering red. “I’ll become complacent. And then when the test is over, I’ll be useless and annoying.”

“Unlikely.”

“Very, very likely. That’s what happens when you get secure. My parents were very secure. And all they did was take advantage of everyone.”

“Really?” Brian’s brows rise. “Your parents were secure? Are you sure about that? Secure people don’t take advantage of others.

Secure people know how to take care of themselves.

They don’t put their eggs in other people’s baskets.

If you want an example of someone who has an above average level of security, A-mail-ia…

” His expression melts into a smile. “…you’re looking at one. ”

My heart thuds again, but for a minorly different reason.

“We’ll begin tomorrow, since I have that meeting with Liam tonight.” The elevator doors open, and Brian steps out, heading toward the breakroom. “Prepare yourself.”

With nothing else I can say, I gulp.

My dearest Admirer,

I once wrestled with inadequacy. I’m afraid that’s a common side effect of having a little sister…

however, do not despair, for I won the battle.

It was a bit annoying for a while, like a tug-of-war against a tree, but it’s worth it to keep fighting.

Nothing beats the moment you feel something that was once so immovable budge.

Allow me to reassure you: there are very few things one can do, or fail to do, that would result in the end of the world.

Unless you are secretly in charge of the country’s nukes, the only thing anyone worth your energy is going to ask of you is that you do your best. Also, assuming you are in a place that wants the best for you, you will heal regardless of whether or not it feels like you are healing.

Our environments nurture us. If you’ve found yourself out of a toxic one and into a safe one, you will grow.

It is inevitable.

To answer your questions, my favorite food is Thanksgiving dinner.

My favorite color is a very specific shade of pink.

My favorite flower is the peony. The closed bud—beautiful in its own right—reminds me of someone I cherish.

When they bloom, it will likely be the most incredible sight in the world.

Let’s see now…why don’t we ask some tougher questions?

How do you know when you’re loved? What can people do to make you feel welcome?

Don’t mind my research. It’s my natural tendency.

Best boyfriend in training,

Your Brian

P.S. - The blue you selected is stunning. Have you considered adding your favorite flower’s petals or decorating it somehow? Someone I know does it, and they turn out stunning.

I do not know how many times I reread boyfriend in training , but each time I might breathe less. It doesn’t make sense. We’ve exchanged only a few letters, and half of mine have been complaining about how I’m not the person I want to be yet.

What has compelled him to want to be my significant other?

Unless…

What if he’s messing with me?

What if he knows it’s me and he thinks this is all a big joke?

He is trying to get his “secret admirer” to do their wax seals like I do them. He’d surely not compare two different women like that. Not my Brian.

My stomach tightens, and I lower the letter to look at the collection of wax and stationery organized pristinely on the desk before me.

Maybe he recognized the paper I’ve used.

I don’t think he’s been in here since helping me bring my boxes in, but…

there’s a chance, isn’t there? Brian loves pretty mail things, and I have a decent number of pretty mail things.

Brian wouldn’t mess with me unless he thinks I’m messing with him, and growing up where every girl fell over themselves for him, he has to know I’m not messing with him.

Could that mean…is he actually interested in me ?

Or am I delusional and trying to create a scenario where that’s a possibility because I am desperate for it to be the truth?

Haha. Yeah. Probably that one.

I help sort the mail at work and see his mail at home. I’d know if Brian were still getting love letters these days. He isn’t. Possibly I’m the first he’s gotten in a while.

Maybe he’s just ready to settle down and is taking this opportunity to get to know someone who has professed interest in him?

Selecting my paper, I get through writing My dearest Brian before I remember that I am here in his house. I, Amelia Christmas, am a woman living in Brian’s house. And he has made it impeccably clear that I am welcome to continue living in his house. Indefinitely.

If he’s looking to settle down, he has to know that some other girl would not be okay with that.

Ice cold dread washes over me.

He. Knows.

He knows his secret admirer is me.

He knows, and he’s entertaining the idea.

Because Brian wouldn’t play with my feelings like this, right? Not if he knows I’m serious, at least. I need to make sure my next letter makes it very clear that I’m deathly serious about him. Then, then I’ll see how he responds.

Here goes…everything.

Heart in my throat, I put my pen to the page.